Classic Poem

TO HIS FRIEND, THE CARDINAL COLONNA, WITH GIFTS OF CUSHIONS, BOOKS, A GOBLET

Thy cheek, once worn with weeping, rest upon
The first, my cherished lord; and do thou be
Of thy dear self somewhat more niggardly
With Love that gloats and turns men white as stone;
And with the second shut that path, O shun
That left-hand path where Love is far too free;
In August as in January see
Time fail thee not ere the long way be done.
And with the third, drink that rare medicine,
Sweet at the last, though sour at the start,
Which cleans the mind of thoughts that make a din:
O put me with thy precious joys apart,
So that I dread not Charon's boat, but win
By prideless prayer the harbour of thy heart!